Cold Comfort
by L Moonshade
Summary: A Watcher sees too much and needs help dealing with it. Reposted with slight changes.


Disclamer: As always, I don't own anything but my OC and the plot.

A/N: Yes, another Methos fic. I don't know what it is about the guy, but he's set up camp in my head, whispering all these little stories to me, and showing no signs of leaving.

A/N 2: Just a repost to fix a couple of typos that were driving me crazy and to change the location; Paris wasn't the right place to set this. Other than that, nothing's changed.

* * *

"You are listening, right?" Joe asked.

"Two quarters, four halves, yeah," Methos said, distracted. "Who's that?"

Joe looked, then shook his head. "Oh, no. You don't want any part of that, Old Man."

Methos turned back. "No? She's stunning, who wouldn't?"

Joe had to admit she was. Tall and slim with tan skin, black hair (just showing the first touches of silver) and green eyes, she certainly made an impression. "No," he said firmly.

"Joe…"

The Watcher heaved a sigh, knowing that tone of voice. "Will Sparrow."

Methos, for a change, was caught speechless. "_That's_ Will Sparrow?"

"Wilma, actually."

"Don't blame her for going by Will. I've heard the name, but, no one seems to know what she does."

"Most people don't. The Tribunal sends her after missing Immortals. The last one they sent her after hadn't been seen in six years, but she found him in two months."

Methos whistled. "Impressive," he said, turning for another glance. "What if they send her after me?"

"They won't," Joe admitted. "You only exist on paper. She's crap with research."

"Also, she's an ex-Watcher."

"This Watcher is deceased," Joe muttered, face registering his annoyance. Then, off Methos' blank look, "Monty Python? The Dead Parrot Sketch? Oh, never mind. How'd you know?"

"Saw the bandage on her wrist. What happened?"

"No one knows. The Tribunal sent her after Kolya, gone six years, like I said. Two months later, she calls me, says she's tracked him to a little town not far from Vancouver, British Columbia. Two days later, he's dead, and she's wearing that bandage."

"And no one knows what happened?"

"The Tribunal sealed the records and swore everyone involved to secrecy. The only one I know of who talked was one of the clean-up crew, and only because I saved his life in 'Nam."

"What did he say?"

"That Kolya was shot first, then beheaded. By his own sword."

Methos drained his mug, then tapped it. Joe, playing the dutiful bartender, refilled it.

"That is interesting," Methos said, then grabbed his beer and went over to Will's table.

Joe shook his head. For a man who placed so much stock in self-preservation, Methos sure did take a lot of risks.

Methos offered the woman his most charming smile. "May I join you?"

She looked up and his smile wavered, just a bit. Her gaze was frank and appraising, almost too much so, and it unnerved him.

"Will it make a difference if I say no, Mr…"

"Only in that I'll be unwelcome," he said, taking a seat and offering a hand. "Adam Pierson."

She shook his hand. "I'm surprised you're talking to me."

"I don't know what you mean."

Her expression didn't change, but something in her eyes told him she'd expected a better line than that.

"Yeah, that's not really going to work, is it? Look, whatever happened, I don't care…"

Will broke eye contact and Methos silently cursed. This was not going well, at all. Adam could charm the socks off anyone, so why wasn't it working? It wasn't the fact that he was flustered; that was half Adam's appeal.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't fair of me. Can, uh, can we start over?"

She looked at him, scorn in her eyes, and Methos realized that she was never going to warm up to him. She drained her mug, then stood, tossing some bills onto the table.

"No, Mr. _Pierson_. You can't."

As Methos watched her leave, he turned her words over in his mind, wondering at the odd emphasis she'd placed on his name.

"So. The famous Pierson charm didn't work?" Joe teased.

That was the answer. Methos wasn't sure if he should be impressed or afraid, so he finally settled on a mix of both that left his stomach feeling queasy.

Joe sat. "Methos?" he asked, not liking the way his friend's face had suddenly paled.

Methos looked up. "She knew. The whole time, she knew."

"Knew what?"

"That there is no Adam Pierson."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

Will took her time as she walked back to the motel room. It wasn't a home, but it would do, at least for now, even if she didn't want to stay in Seacouver, not really. Constant clouds and drizzle, how depressing. But, she went where she was told, and it would be nice to at least have one thing that was stable, in her life. The Watchers had always been sending her somewhere, chasing after someone or another, without even an Immortal to call her own. Hell, even Pierson had Methos.

But, that wasn't the right of it. She chuckled and shook her head, enjoying the joke. She knew "Pierson" was an Immortal; after twenty years of tracking them, she'd learned the little tells that marked them, even though she couldn't sense them. He'd done an excellent job of hiding it, she had to admit, but not even he could hide the age and weariness completely. If he wasn't a new Immortal, like the Tribunal thought after that car accident (did he even know he'd been seen leaving the morgue after Amanda had pulled him out), then there was only one other person he could be. Methos.

Not that it was her primary concern. She was fine with what she'd done—it was the only thing she could have and lived with herself. What she'd seen, however, that had kept her awake since she'd stumbled across it, rather than deal with nightmares from which she woke screaming.

"So, then. What now?" she asked herself.

The problem was, there wasn't anyone else she could take this to. She had no close friends except for Joe, and she wasn't about to burden him with this, knowing he had his own to deal with. No friends, no family, she had no one to talk to. So, why did her mind keep bringing up the image of hazel eyes?

Back at her room, she glanced at the clock, even though she knew what time it was, then reached for the phone. She hesitated, then grabbed it and dialed before she could change her mind.

"Joe's."

"I need a favor. Would you ask him to meet me tomorrow? Ten AM, at the park? And, make sure he knows, it's safe."

There was a pause, long enough for her to wonder if Joe had gone, but when he came back, she realized he'd just been relaying the message.

"He'll be there," Joe said, then hung up.

Will dropped the phone and fell to the floor, wanting to cry, even as she held back the tears.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

It was a beautiful day, bright and clear, but Methos felt cold. It was safe, Will had told him through Joe, but he couldn't help being paranoid. It was, after all, what had kept him alive for so long.

Then he saw her, and all thoughts for himself were forgotten. Will sat on a bench, arms resting on her legs, head bowed, as if she were the one carrying the weight of millennia, not him. Methos made his way over and sat next to her. If she noticed him there, she gave no indication, but he remained silent, letting her speak first. He waited for a long time.

"I found him by following the trail of missing persons," she finally said. "I got there just as the souvenirs were losing their power to satisfy, but, even so, I was almost too late; he'd already chosen the next one. When I found him, she was reaching for his hand.

"I yelled at her to run home. She froze, at first, and he almost had her, but I screamed, and it broke through her shock and terror and she ran. I wonder, does she know how close she came, or was she more afraid of getting grounded for talking to a stranger? I pray it's the latter.

"He ran, too, but I was after him. He thought he'd lost me a couple of times, I'm sure, but I was ready, and not about to let him go. Even when I'd cornered him in that alley, he felt safe. I was only a mortal, after all, and, even when I pulled the gun, he was sure I didn't know how to do it permanently. The shock when I said I knew about Immortals, would use his own sword to kill him, wasn't even close to what he deserved."

Will paused, then, but Methos knew she wasn't done. There was no remorse for what she'd done, just determination and a conviction that she'd done the right thing.

"I'd just had to replace my binoculars and the new ones, they give such a crisp, clear image, like you're right there in the room, and I saw…" She gave a violent shudder. "Oh, gods, I saw. She was twelve, _is_ twelve, and she wasn't even the youngest…"

She took a deep, steadying breath. It was almost over, the words, at least. Methos knew, could already see, what she wanted of him, and his heart broke. For him, for her, for the world, and the answer he would have to give. But, it was the telling, not the question or answer that would be her salvation, so he sat, and waited, and let her bleed the wound dry.

"I couldn't tell the police what happened, but I could call in a tip, could use my Watcher skills and natural talent, could follow the police, communicate to the families, let them know that their daughters' killer was dead, and what poor, cold comfort that must be…"

She looked up at him, then. He could see the horror that would haunt her while memory lasted, could see the raw, aching need, and his heart broke again, knowing that he, too, could only offer cold comfort.

"You must know. Methos, how do I forget?"

She saw the sympathy in his eyes, but there was no hope. Five thousand years old or not, Methos was no font of wisdom, he was just a guy. Never before had he so bitterly regretted that fact.

"You don't," he said gently. "You can't."

He expected her to fight. He expected shouts, anger, a violent rage, anything but the silent tears that ran down her cheeks.

"That's not good enough," she said, voice breaking.

Methos took her into his arms. "I know."


End file.
